The Dover house is sold. Twelve years gone with the wave of a pen. Nothing left but pictures now. Profit eased the pain, you bet, and it was high time we moved along but we'll miss our little home. The cherry tree blooms for someone else now. We hope they'll be happy, too.

There's new carpet in the conservatory ... though I doubt carpet squares glued to a concrete slab will last very long. Not my problemo, thankfully. I've started to weed the neglected garden out back. In my campaign, I discovered stinging nettles. Now I garden with my sleeves rolled down.

Chris's room has a new coat of paint. No longer is it sunflower and lime, but beige and blue (with a really cool racing stripe!). The office is also done; a one day DIY that tuned out better than expected. Elena's room is next, then the guest room. Those summer guests are coming!

I've got my UK license, but the Honda needs a side mirror to be approved for British roads. The inspection mechanic said it needed some major welding, too, but I sensed a conflict of interest so I'll take it to a different place. Meanwhile, the weather's warm ... perfect for legs or pedals.

Two months gone since we landed on these shores. Two souls calling home the Road. Some day the kids will understand how life can get so narrow it chokes without your knowing. That's not what the Gift is for.

When I'm old, I want to be old: expended, dog-eared, used up. No use waiting: today will be the good old days.